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First Journal 2004—Megan
Since I already know that I will be reflecting on this entry as well as reading it aloud to the class, I will take a stab at being somewhat objective and just document a few thoughts I have had in the last three days I have been in London, England.
When I first stepped off the plane I thought, "This doesn't look much different from any other airport I have been in." It was only when I heard people around me calling to their loved ones or reasoning with the airport workers in that beautiful melody I have been told is the British accent that I was convinced I had crossed an ocean. I was enthralled by the sounds of the people talking around me on my way through customs when I suddenly heard one talking rather sharply. I turned to see it was a woman badgering my friend, Alex, in a condescending tone that did not flatter the beautiful dialect. She proceeded to gang up on us--the rude, ignorant Americans that is. After being slightly afraid she would be cutting our three month trip short by three months, I was relieved to see her grudgingly let us go. Later that day, I would also have an unpleasant American-hating experience in a cellular device shop. At
this point, I was beginning to feel incredibly small and not well liked and for the first time in my entire life, I had the urge not to speak. It took a lot of courage to talk to a Londoner again. But, things eventually got better. On Sunday night I found myself going to an awesome cocktail bar with my friends. I had on my new skirt, had my roommate do my hair, I even shaved my legs, and headed out on the town. I was reflecting on how beautiful it was to walk out of my place of living to such a classy, exciting, busy street. I was enjoying all the exciting new sights and sounds and yet again I was enjoying listening to people speak as they passed me by. I wondered if any Londoners would think that America is as exciting as I'm finding London. Or, would anyone in London hear me speak he was beautiful?
Anyway, now I am writing about my experiences of the last three days on the roof of my hostel. My feet are chilly but the rest of me feels wonderful and is more than inviting to the breeze that is my companion. I'm looking around at the buildings, waiting for the chimney sweep crew to pop up from the roof of the building to my right, looking into the chic, artistic living room across from me, the curtains pulled back as if with a playful grin to present its stage. I feel as if this is the only place I can really tour this culture without feeling like a tourist. I look up at a star that winks back at me and say a humble prayer that the transition between the person I was before this trip and the person I'll be after can be softer than it is harsh, for I know that these months will not be a gigantic field trip but rather a life experience that I hope can change my life in some sense or another, forever.
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